overyourhead - some irreverent musings by a gay London guy - crawling though technology, love and life... so you don't have to.

Quote Of The Day

"Victory goes to the player who makes the next-to-last mistake - Chessmaster Savielly Grigorievitch Tartakower (1887-1956)"

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Sometimes I Disgust Even Myself...

I did something so disgusting eight years ago it's only recently I can even bring myself to talk about it. It was so vile, so yucky, so out of character and so outrageous that my then partner Marky almost disowned me on the spot. He was so embarrassed he wouldn't even walk with me on the way home from the incident. I will never, ever, ever be able to go there again. And I'm truly ashamed. I'm blushing even now. OK, I was more than a little drunk. But that's no excuse. No. Really. It isn't.

So what did I do?

Well, we were on our way home from the pub and feeling a bit peckish popped into a kebab house (name withheld) on St Paul's Road for some take-home grub. We got to the front of the queue, placed our order and stepped to one side to let the people behind us get served. So far so good.

Waiting for the food to be ready I rather absent-mindedly wandered over to the mirrored wall opposite the counter. I paused for a moment and then peered more closely studying my face in the mirror. OK, now here's the awful bit... I then reached my hands up to my face and between my thumb tips squeezed a particularly large spot that was all white and ripe for bursting. The entire shop watched as a fountain of white pus spurted all over the mirror in front of me. Seemingly satisfied with this facial fungus evacuation I took one last look in the mirror before turning back round to face the counter. I must has missed the looks of horror on the faces of the other occupants of the shop. A heartbeat later one of the assistants reached down below the counter and withdrew some disinfectant spray and a cloth. He lifted the wooden counter flap, stepped forward and wiped all the mess I'd made off the mirror without saying a word. To my shame I didn't say anything either. I didn't even apologise. I just waited at the counter for our kebabs. By the time we left with our food it was perhaps gradually dawning on me that something might have been up. Yes, Marky had seemed particularly agitated since I'd stepped back from the mirror. And, yes, I think people might have been staring at me. But at the time I didn't fully realise the cause of either Marky's agitation or indeed that those stares were ones of utter disgust and loathing.

Once outside Marky erupted in a fountain of his own. He was livid.

Needless to say, however hungry I've been, I've never had the courage to darken that particular kebab house's door again.